


To Lose is to Find

by LaniAhava



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Gen, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapped Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Minor Triss Merigold/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Torture, not everyone is having a good time but it gets better, sad Ciri and Geralt, some dissociation because you know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-25
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:46:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27186769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaniAhava/pseuds/LaniAhava
Summary: After the Mountain (as a couple of Witcher fanfic writers had one point written), Jaskier tries to deal as best as he can, but trouble always follows. Thanks to an old friend, Geralt comes to his aid. While certain truths comes into light, it begs the question: will they meet again before Jaskier loses his sanity?
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 1
Kudos: 125





	1. Taken

**Author's Note:**

> Currently I am in a Witcher fanfic kick and this is one of the stories (that I have a ending in mind) that begged to be written. Hope you enjoy it as much as I had writing it!

_"In this place, to find is to lose, and to lose is to find. That is the way in Castle Oblivion.”_

_—Kingdom Hearts Re: Chain of Memories_

_._

_._

_._

After many months, Jaskier was able to finally numb the pain of his broken heart. He stayed with many people, meet a nice sorceress at one point a couple of days ago when he was making his way to Cintra to make his yearly visit to a certain princess.

There were some days he curses a certain witcher for being such a giant idiot, while at his weakest, prays in the darkest of nights maybe he really wasted half his life and never did get a clue of being the other’s burden and curse.

Regardless, the heartbreak and agony in his soul came back like that accursed day on top of the mountain of that dragon hunt at a nameless inn he was currently singing. It took everything to ignore the blatant staring at the usual corner of the inn as _he_ always sat.

With a flourished bow, the bard ends his set and bids his audience an early good night. He quickly goes up to his rented room and hoped at not being followed. He sneaks a peek behind and catches a glimpse of the witcher surrounded by a crowd. His white haired barely seen through the gap of the crowd.

Not looking into at the gift on the horse’s mouth, Jaskier took two steps at a time to practically fly into his room and shoves everything into his bag. Once he places his lute into his case a shiver went down his spine and felt a sudden pain before a transforming into dizziness.

He blinks around the room and felt like in a dream, but he notices his packed back in front of him and remembers his time is running out if he wants to escape the witcher. Once he picks up his things, Jaskier fast walks back down.

Not wasting time to look for him, Jaskier walks to the innkeeper of the sudden change of plans of staying overnight.

The innkeeper only gives him an amused grin, eying at something — or someone — behind him.

Jaskier just gave a large, fake smile, pretending he didn’t catch on his thoughts. Although at the back of his mind, he wondered where the woman went who usually spoke with while her husband behind her scowled at him. Now this very severe looking man who couldn’t make him smile for anything for the whole day is here and his wife nowhere to be seen.

"I just remembered what day was today. You see, I have an upcoming competition that I must win," he winks, leaving the man laughing boisterously, "Ta!"

Strange indeed. Ignoring the growing dread, Jaskier left town.

* * *

After a few minutes walking into the forest, Jaskier curses himself. There was a reason he was keen to finding an inn; tired and his sleeping bag was soiled from the last couple of days of rain. Sure it's a clear night now, but the ground is not.

"Stupid," the bard mutters to himself, " _He_ is the one who should have leave. I was there first."

**_“If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands!”_ **

His shoulders slumped, not until then realizing how tense he was since he saw the witcher.

“Its like nothing really changed and time had not passed at all,” Jaskier whispers into the night, walking silently through the sleeping forest.

If anything, Jaskier would always choose to help Geralt even if it meant to fulfill that last request.

"Jaskier."

Speaking of, Jaskier broke out of his thoughts at the call.

Once more, dread came over him. Is he going to finish off his broken heart? What more can the Witcher do to him?

"I was looking for you."

How hard it was not to turn around, all hating himself that secretly he had hoped to hear such words.

"Hmm, yes, wondrous night we're having, worry not, I will make sure to be even harder to find until you never meet me and finally forgotten such a terrible period in your long life," he babbled.

_Thank you, traitorous mouth, less talking and more walking away before—_

An annoyed grunt, but what does he know what that means anymore.

"Please look at me, Jaskier."

The bard whines and turns. Unable to deny, especially how he begs.

He looks at the strange gold eyes that flashed and the dread disappears.

But a crystal clear of wrong _wrong_ wrong, thrums through him.

“You’re not Geralt.”

The witcher before him stares at him with a broken look that shifts into a sneer.

“Even now, your mental barriers holds?” the voice shifted to a higher pitch and the night around Jaskier darkens. Breathing became harder and Jaskier mentally screams his body to move!

Jaskier turns back to the fake Geralt, only to see a short dark haired woman smirking at him, “Lucky for you, I always like a challenge and I will break you mind, Bard. After all, 20 years with a witcher will bound to have some knowledge of his weaknesses in your pathetic human mind.”

“How—?” he gasps, falling on his knees as he felt his whole body being one giant bruise.

“You never left the inn in your own power,” she crackles and fades to nothing.

Along with her, so did the pain, which Jaskier takes a deep breath.

“ _I was not expecting for the failsafe work this soon, Master Bard_ ,” a soft voice thoughtfully echoed around him.

Jaskier huffs and wraps his arms around his legs, “Same. I was hoping to at least make it a month before they found me.”

The voice hums, “ _While my real self would be getting an alert of the activation of the protection spell, I would not able to locate you. Just hold on until I can do so_.”

The presence of the sorceress—not to confused with the one who took form of Geralt earlier—was the one he assisted days ago from Nilfgaard soldiers. Both were captured and while they never gave each other’s names other than their professions. Although the sorceress gave him a boon in exchange of making her a ballad. One of best responses he ever received.

This in his eyes elevated her to possibly being the only sorceress he trusts.

“I will do my best…” he whispers at the fading presence. His surroundings shift to an inn.

Not just any inn, but at Posada.

“So it begins,” Jaskier closes his eyes, hands turning into a fist. After taking a deep breath, Jaskier takes a step forward only to trip over air. 

Before he knew it, he gasps in pain, feeling his arms pulled above his head and no ground was found from his floating feet.

“What? You thought only mental torture, you’ll be facing, Bard?” the short haired sorceress who kidnapped him smirks. Behind her were a couple of soldiers holding a whips and clubs.

His smile hid his pain, “Bring it! Its not the first time I woken up being tormented by a witch, although she had better room and didn’t need no one else to do her dirty work.”

She snarls and Jaskier braces himself.

* * *

Yennefer huffs in frustration, staring at the map of the Continent. Her postponed personal mission in breaking her bond with Geralt was back on. Unfortunately, her Chaos is out of her usual control since the battle of Sodden, where many of the Brotherhood were lost, be it death or betrayal.

There is no hints of another djinn or of anything of that caliber.

Suddenly, a flickering light catches her attention. She quickly feeds it before it fades away with the little Chaos she does have control over and gasps.

“Triss…” somehow her friend, whom she thought had died in Sodden is still alive, or at least her magic is activated that only works if she was alive to feed it.

The sorceress quickly gets her bag of potions and traveling pack ready. Whipping up her cloak to hide her burns and identity from anyone bothering her that would interrupt finding Triss, Yennefer prepares her journey to an inn from nowhere to find out what have become of her friend.


	2. Lost, but not gone

Fiona – formerly Princess Cirilla – keeps her head down, tugging her hood down further when she glimpses people getting too close to them. She hastens her pace, tightening her grip of Geralt’s arm before they enter the inn.

That is until Geralt just stops couple of steps away from the innkeeper. She turns to him, curiously why he looks to a corner of the open space of the inn. At the direction that caught his attention, sat a young woman in a dark cloak, nursing a mug.

The young woman is glaring at the table before her, unbothered by the crowd in the inn weird staring, let alone Geralt’s. Fiona's grip tightens in worry by the tight look Geralt had. Fortunately he snaps out of it and looks down with a soft look.

“Ask if there is any room available,” he tugs off a bag from the side of his belt and drops it into her hands, “I’m going to get some…information.”

Troubled, she stares at the bag, then she looks up and gives him a sharp look, “Stay safe.”

Somehow his look softens more and leans down to press his forehead onto hers and gave a comforting grip on her shoulder. With a promise, he gravely say, “I will return.”

A last look at the woman, Fiona makes a quick walk to the owner to enquire for any room.

“—Still wont forgive you from doing that to the poor Master Bard. And I will say it again!” the woman stabs her finger at the man's chest before her, “The Great Master Bard Jaskier was just here and if you had not let slip to those fools he was staying here, we would have made more money with his songs.

You better pray to Melitele his white wolf doesn’t find out lest he would kill us to vent out over someone on hand than those Nilfgaard mages who killed his bard.”

A loud choked whimper had the couple turn to Fiona in surprise.

“Lies! You are lying!”

Distantly she hears Geralt curse, but she cannot _not_ know. Jaskier, her favorite bard. The one who always sang in her birthday, brought her trinkets, taught her play a couple silly lullabies with a lute, and whisper forbidden stories of the white wolf behind her grandmother’s back.

Who was supposed to have been too far away from everything, doing travelling bard things.

The older woman seeing through her, whispers in sympathy, “He was someone dear to you, was he not, child?”

She gives a sharp nod, holding back her tears. The two older couple look at each other and woman frowns at him for a moment before reaching down and places the lute on the counter.

His lute.

Her fist clenches on her cloak, glaring in accusation with blurry eyes at the man who seems taken back.

_Why? I have already lost my family twice over and my home, but someone I looked up something of a brother too?_

“He promised we were going to do a duet,” fingers carefully reached over and grasps the lute. Behind her she hears a sharp intake, but Fiona ignores it.

Her surroundings blur further and focused only in staring at the untouched for who knows how long lute. There was a sense of being dragged somewhere and the only reason she didn’t snap out of her shock was the familiar, comforting smell of Roach, firewood, and onions. All her attention is on the lute.

When she felt gently pushed back, Fiona blinks and finds herself seating on the bed of a room.

Looking up, the lady in a cloak from earlier was arguing in hurried, panicked whispers with Geralt, who responds with growls and a more prominent frown.

The bed barely creaks under her as she settles the lute on her lap. Blue eyes flashes in her mind, snickering at Mousesack looking torn between horror and amusement as he kept an eye for any sign of her grandmother while the bard taught her his most famous song.

His calloused hands guiding her then soft hands on a practice lute he brought his last visit. All through the winter he taught her the basic care and use of it.

Promising next time not only doing a duet in front of her grandparents, but letting her touch his precious lute.

She plugs on the strings to check how much she needs to tune it. Thankfully she hasn’t forgotten. In no time at all, a couple of chords as warm up silences the room. She carefully plays the chorus of the one song they had practiced in secret.

_“Toss a coin to your Witcher_

_O' Valley of Plenty_

_O' Valley of Plenty, oh_

_Toss a coin to Your Witcher_

_O' Valley of Plenty”_

* * *

They had left the inn, barely fighting the urge of strangling the man who sold Jaskier out to Nilfgaard.

Although he has a suspicion that Yennefer did do something.

Once in the forest, Geralt gave Ciri her space, or so he tells himself, unable to be near let alone hear the lute of his...best friend in the whole world.

Then again when they returned to the forest, Ciri let out a scream—so like her mother—echoing his own agony and despair that literally took down part of the forest.

Hence now Yennefer offers to train Ciri as long as the sorceress doesn’t have to leave to chase down whatever business she was doing in that inn. At least this is something to distract his child surprise.

Just as he contemplates if he would cut down a couple of trees himself to rid of the overwhelming heaviness in his chest, a dark curly haired woman appeared with a vibrating wolf medallion.

Worried for a second by the sudden appearance of the magical intruder, Geralt only lowers his sword at the sight of Triss Marigold.

The sorceress appears hurried with scars wrapped around her arms and part of her face, which he never saw when he last saw her.

She gives him a quick greeting nod and her gown fluttered by him in agitation.

Curious of his friend, now that two—being Mousesack and...Jaskier—are gone, maybe he should see if there is anything he can be of help.

Anything to distract him of his grief, even temporarily.

* * *

There is no time or more like it's running out as each second is wasted in not finding him.

There are not many truly worth humans let alone one toward a sorceress, more so now that she isn't the usual beauty each sorceress gains through their trials.

Once she catches sight of Yennefer, the dark curly haired woman takes a moment to stare at her friend.

The other woman hadn't changed much and seems more settled despite of the lingering Chaos flickering about. But that is expected when the other woman released such power at Sodden.

The aftermath of that battle was so much and no one can be trusted even more so from the remnants of the Brotherhood.

Shaking her head, Triss strides toward Yennefer, hoping at least some advice for her current personal mission where her special alert went off days ago. Unfortunately, she doesn't have the necessary knowledge to even find where the situation is with the trail now cold at the nearby town.

It was fortunate she found traces of Yennefer's magic of a man with a exasperate wife of an unknown inn.

"Yenn," she whispers only to freeze at another source of power, not quite Chaos, calling her. She looks next to Yennefer.

A young girl with shimmering white hair looks up between the two of them, sitting while holding the lute.

_Oh_.

Looking up to ask Yennefer, she stops once more at the shocked look of her friend. Her mouth seemed turned to say something, yet unsure what.

Triss frowns, but feels the sands of time slipping, "I need your help with finding someone."

"What...?" Yennefer kept staring at her.

Triss huffs a relieved laugh, "You were always a couple of steps ahead and here you are already half helping without realizing it."

She gasps when Yennefer tightly embraces her. The powerful sorceress shook, but knew that was practically her way of crying. Triss rubs her back and hums the tune the Master Bard made for her.

"You're truly alive," Yennefer whispers in relief.

Triss only smiles into her hair, "And I naturally knew you were, but before we can exchange stories, I was serious of asking for your aid in searching for a certain bard who I gave a protection spell that activated days ago. Only until now I found some remnants in the inn."

"Do you mean Jaskier?" a soft, but hopeful voice spoke up.

Triss looks down and gave a depreciative smile, "We never really exchanged names since our focus was escaping and then split up from an Nilfgaard prison."

Just as her face began to fall, Triss crouches down, "But if he is the owner of this lute, then it is. I can still feel the spell running."

Turning to Yennefer, Triss informs her gravely, "The first couple of layers have already been broken."

"How much time?" A gruffer voice than she last heard asked behind her.

Geralt looks hopeful as the young girl and Triss realizes why the Master Bard was taken. He was the infamous Witcher's Bard. It was no wonder she was comfortable with him. Any friend of Geralt is a friend of hers.

Now she is curious what kind of protection the spell took form as being that she let it be an open slate for the Master Bard to create as she provides the power behind it despite of unable to use it to find said bard.

As long as he still fighting back, the spell would hold against just a bit more away from death be it physical and or mental attacks. But nothing is infallible.

She winces, feeling the spell take more of her reserve Chaos left for such spell. The problem is the spell is dragging too much, too fast, “At most, a week and that is being generous.”

* * *

Jaskier grimly thinks, as he groans in pain with a cracked voice, _Remember how you make your songs, your ballads with little information!_

As if weighted a ton, he lifts his head and stares at his current tormentor, the chain shifting at every hit he takes being raised over the ground. The passing guards shifting cards, betting when he’ll break. The nasty grime growing on the stoned walls. The creaking of steps after a door was opened.

_Time has no meaning_ , Jaskier winces at the shifting, broken ribs, _I am outside raising my arms, trying to reach the pouring heavens. Every step, the leaves are being crushed underfoot. The forest around me is old and the wind is blowing ever so often, making trees wave at the chance of quenching their thirst…_

A painful crack broke into his thoughts, but as quickly, Jaskier shifts it back to the story, _Thunder rumbles nearby. The storm is at its zenith._

The constant pain fades away, now smelling the faint rain. He smiles.

_What a wondrous sight._

_Unbeknownst to him, silver rivulets slide down, mucking the puddles forming around his feet with chamomile growing in the amidst of it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be taking a trip down memory lane in a literal sense. I will update the next chapter on Tuesday, until next time, LaniAhava out!


	3. What am I to you?

Triss Merigold takes in her new surroundings for a moment. The cottage is an understatement of the dwelling Yennefer took over, but a manor is overstating what it is.

Currently, she, Yennefer, Geralt and Princess Cirilla or Fiona when out in public, are in the dinning room. The three adults discuss while the former princess of Cintra was in the corner tuning the lute.

“So far my magic is linked with the Master Bard. With his lute, and your help, he can be found,” Triss Merigold stated.

Ciri frowns at this and clutches on the lute, unwilling to part from it, let alone have it expose to magic. This sentiment is shared with Geralt.

“I promise I would not damage the lute,” Triss solemnly promises, “Just as the Chaos in our blood is our life, music is to a bard, especially for the Master Bard Jaskier.”

The passion, the care for the words that flow with the song. The gratitude and sincerity aimed at her was a balm to her soul when its so rare in this world. Triss can see why someone like him will be willing to travel with Geralt.

Shame Geralt never introduce the two before, the Master Bard is someone special. Someone who definitely would get along like house in fire with Yennefer.

Although she wonders at the last song he performed before their parting. She can almost taste the heartache in his voice and left her thinking about Yennefer who she has not seen often before the Battle at Sodden .

Sorrow of the lost time and fear that maybe she did something that Yennefer left without even a goodbye to her when the other sorceress grew tire of the Brotherhood.

Looking back at Geralt, Triss wonders if he knows anything about the grief of the Master Bard.

She blinks when Geralt turns to her with Cirilla standing by him. She was holding out the lute with reluctance, but isn’t letting go.

“Promise you’ll bring him back?” she whispers.

Looking at her hard eyes, having a small idea of what the girl had already been through, Triss bows her head, “I will use all my power to get him back to you, princess.”

She nods and lets Triss get hold of the lute before walking out to somewhere else in the house. Geralt didn’t follow and stares at Triss.

“I’m coming with you,” he states.

That was fine with Triss. She does need help in getting the Master Bard’s token to gain full control of the magic being released and location of said bard, “Of course.”

* * *

The lost look, the regrets of words said in anger and the desperation to save the one who should at least get an apology was what caught Yennefer once she got over her joy at seeing her old friend Triss.

Never again would she want to go through that again.

As Triss set up, Yennefer verifies what she learned from Triss over the protection spell she casted over the bard.

“So to free him of the set up, you need two ‘keys’ one being yourself and the other his token,” Yennefer states as she mentally runs scenarios of the best way to reach it.

“The lute can replace of having Master Bard physically present since it has been with him so long that it might as well be part of his person,” Triss gently shakes one of the mixed potion bottles before passing it off to her.

Yennefer reaches over and scoffs, “That is true.”

Then she sobers when she gets a brush to dip it into the solution, but makes no move to make the necessary signs, “Are you sure you don’t wish for me to come with you?”

Triss keeps silent, probably finishing up the weaving emergency spells for the trip. Once a minute passes, the curly haired woman opens her eyes and gives her a kind smile, “Once we locate the Master Bard, I will need you be in full power to rescue him, who will be in high chance need of healing. Hopefully I would have recovered by the time you and Geralt return with him.”

“He doesn’t have that good of a voice to be considered a Master Bard,” Yennefer darkly mutters, mixing the brush into the mixture to be completely drenched.

Triss only smiles.

So what if she is annoyed by the last song of the dumb bard made for her. Sweet Kiss indeed. Geralt is the dangerous one. She was just a victim of his wish.

“He made me a song as well. Very nice. It’s a shame he had no chance to spread it before getting himself captured,” her eyes turn to mischief, “Once he is better, I would ask a performance and you can review it for me. I would like a second opinion of his gift to me for assisting in saving him.”

“More like owes you a song cycle after this,” Yennefer hides a smile when Triss gives her snorting laugh.

* * *

Triss looks around and sees only Yennefer who stands outside of one of the two overlapping circles that cross the center one. The other overlapping circle has Geralt and herself. The center was where the lute was located that would try to resonate wherever the Master Bard is, regardless of the hidden spells. That is what the next layer of the spell circle is for, to catch the location of where the spell is without being caught whoever hid Jaskier from their magical vision.

Seeing all is in order, Triss takes a deep breath and activates the spell circle that Yennefer drew.

There was a dizzyingly sensation then a pop of familiar magic shimmering around her.

“We have entered his mind,” Triss breathes. A whisper of a tightening grip in her hand has Triss give a small smile in gratitude despite knowing Yennefer isn’t presently there, “Be prepared this is something I would have preferred to not have to do, alas we are short in time.”

Geralt gravelly nods.

A pressing and familiar feeling falls over them.

**_"If life could give me one blessing it would be to take you off my hands!”_ **

The other Geralt turns his back after uttering those words, not seeing the shattered look of the Master Bard as if _reaching toward…_

_"I will not find what I need here!” Yennefer shouts at the Tissaia de Vries. The older woman glares, but says nothing to stop the younger from leaving Aretuza._

_“Yennefer—!” Triss pushes past the crowd of sorcerers and sorceresses, hand reaching toward the violet eyed sorceress._

_“I will have better luck elsewhere, so don’t even bother in following me, let alone expect to see me again!” with a wave, Yennefer portal herself out, leaving Triss grasping for air, only to be thrown back from a delayed spell that Yennefer probably left to stop anyone from following her._

Shaking her head, Triss takes another deep breath, ignoring the almost painful tightening grip in her currently empty hand.

“Not time like the present,” she tugs Geralt, or more like tries to. Tugging a brick wall is easier than the Witcher. Hence why she sends a small spark at his arm to snap him out of his spiraling thoughts.

He glares at her. Triss raises an eyebrow and points at the retreating figure.

“We would not be able to figure out what is your bard’s token if we stand here, Geralt.”

“Not my bard,” he mutters. Fortunately, he follows her in chasing down the Master Bard.

* * *

“That—stupid—warned him about her—tone deaf—I cannot even—!!” Jaskier kicks the bed of the inn where Geralt and Jaskier had stayed before everything went down.

Unfortunately, the bed was sturdy, leaving the bard hoping around on one foot, cursing in pain.

Geralt’s eyes follows the erratic movements of Jaskier, who quickly getting over the bruisd toes, “Like is it so much to ask to be called a friend? Was I really that bad? Even that Mousesack got that title. Sorry I am a human that maybe reminds you what you lost Geralt, its not my fault I was born like this!”

He grabs the first thing he finds and throws it. Geralt flinches when the book goes through him. Triss muffles a giggle at his response only to stare past him.

Before he turns to look, Jaskier lets out a shriek and runs through Geralt as well. Geralt barely fought the urge to shiver at the unnaturalness of his bard doing that to him.

_No, not his bard._

“Nononononono!!” he reaches over and pulls out the burning book, but it was too late. Whatever it was not charred, it was in ashes near the fireplace.

For a moment only the crackling flames were heard.

“Dammit, Jaskier,” Geralt almost bemoans the fact that once again Jaskier has no self-preservation at the sight of the mild burns of his hands that still clenches the burned book, “I thought you’ll at least care for your hands for your music and other _fun_ activities.”

A choke sound echoed the room.

“Twenty years…just like my songbook….all went up in flames,” Jaskier chokes out.

He folds himself placing his forehead over the destroyed journal that Geralt now recognizes being Jaskier’s favorite song journal he got for the bard after getting tired of watching the other write on anything he can get his hands on when inspiration hits him.

The wail almost had Geralt look away, yet he watches, knowing this is what he needs to see. This is what his words done to the one who stayed despite of everything and what everyone else believed about him.

When a coin falls out of the shaking journal, Jaskier stares at it and whispers, “…I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting—”

Triss curses and tugs Geralt back and everything turns black.

* * *

“—healing already—”

“Not fast as yesterday, maybe—”

“—I don’t care! We need to break him and get all the information necessary for weaknesses of the White wolf so the Emperor can finally get the princess back!”

Jaskier wakes up and blinks at the piercing light on his face. Rolling his head around he looks up at his still tied arms to the ceiling. He kept looking up at the sound his cell door opens, and the soft steps of the sorceress enters.

“You better not ignore me, _bard,_ ” sneers the witch.

“Oh boy. I am now a new level of insanity. I am hearing voices now and not just any, but a dumb bit—” he gave a chocked scream when pain explodes all over his body.

Once he blinks away the black spots, Jaskier squints at the close up of the demented witch. Maybe he really should get around getting her name, then again, she’s crazy and he doesn’t really care to know. Unfortunately, he couldn’t look away with the harsh grip she had of his face.

“Your defenses are failing. Tell us everything we need to know, and your death will not be slow and eternal.”

He dazedly stares at her in silence, trying to reach his words.

“Speak! I know you never understood the meaning silence!” she shook him, but Jaskier gave her a bemused smile.

“We all know you have the information. From a reliable source, they said you were there when the White Wolf invoked the Law of Surprise.”

Jaskier shrugs. As long as he says nothing all is good.

“You best not forget that I am a powerful sorceress,” the woman coldly warned. Jaskier hums and stops realizing he was emulating a certain Witcher.

The sorceress ignores this, frustrated by his silence, lets go of his face, “Hard way it is then.”

In response, Jaskier looks up the ceiling, trying to make constellations out of the mucky ceiling. He felt a tingling sensation of not being alone. Almost an echo of comfort or hope…?

“That makea a wolf…” he mutters, ignoring the spluttering of the witch. He would have grinned if there were no sudden cold fingers by the side of his head.

“Your mind is not safe from the likes of me and I will get that information from you.”

Those were the last words as he felt darkness fall.

* * *

Geralt stumbles forward as well Triss and their surroundings change into a study of an unknown manor.

“What was that?” growls Geralt.

Triss doesn’t answer as she grips on the nearest furniture, “Its Fringilla. She is trying to break his mind and my link to the Master Bard. This is the first time she does it so directly,” Geralt looks at her worried, but she cannot lie, “She knows and worse is that we were close to figuring out what was the token he is using as a key to lock his mind from her.”

Geralt frowns and asks, “Is it an item or an idea?”

“Anything that means so much to him," Triss absentmindedly responds as she looks around the study with a critical eye.

Geralt frowns, “The songbook?” Geralt frowns deepens when she shakes her head.

“I have tried that first when I heard he was missing and I tried again now, but as you can see,” her hand encompasses the unfamiliar study, “Another memory that has the link.”

A pair of steps passes by the open door of the study. The two intruders step out and find themselves following Jaskier and a noble lady.

“—I do not like what you are insinuating my dear Countess,” Jaskier gasps, placing a hand over his chest in offense while the other fiddling with the lute’s strap, “My heart is and will always be yours!”

Geralt frowns at the title of the woman, _Could it be the infamous Countess de stael…?_

The young woman giggles and nods in greeting at her guards at the foot of the staircase, “The whole Continent knows, my vessels know, and I naturally know the truth. Your muse, your inspiration, your love are one and the same.”

Jaskier stops in the foot of the stairs, only moving when the Countess drags him by his free arm to the door.

Before he says anything, her amusement turns tender, “You miss him. I do not feel comfortable forcing someone away from their love.”

Letting go of his arm, she claps, “For your next ballad, I want something special. I am dire need of one that ends different from many of your bards’ bittersweet tragic tales. I want to listen and believe true love prevails in real life.”

“If that is true, why are you telling me to leave, my dear, my heart, my beloved lady of my bosom,” Jaskier grasps her hands.

The Countess shakes her head and carefully takes back her hands. Looking so much older, the woman motherly cups Jaskier’s face, “I miss the young lad who graced my halls who joyfully sings just the sake of singing. I can feel the darkness reaching your light. It will be my greatest joy to hear you sing of once again in my halls once you find your happiness.”

“Fuck,” Geralt mutters. To think that even before the cursed Djinn incident, Jaskier was already in pain and he didn't notice. He might not understand much about music or anything about being a bard, but he knows and had heard he was his muse. And if the countess says is true then...

Then it means Jaskier loves him.

Does he love him back too?

Not eager to follow up those thoughts he hears Triss muttering spells. She keeps holding her hand with some kind of comfort.

Geralt returns his attention to the memory Jaskier who was walking toward the forest.

“They say he is near Rinde, but where…?” Jaskier licks his lips in thought before beaming.

“Let’s leave it to chance, shall we?” He takes out a worn coin and flips it. The ping of the spinning coin had Geralt mesmerized for some reason, wondering why it felt important.

He blinks when Jaskier makes his way into the forest chosen by flipping a coin.

A familiar stream appears. The familiar stream where some poor sleep-deprived fool was fishing for respite, unaware of the incoming events that led to much regret.

“Oh!” Triss gasps, “I am able to generalize the area where Master Bard is!”

“Good..?” it couldn’t be that easy, would it?

“Partially. It will give me time to reinforce the protection spell that is straining as we speak. We still do need to find Jaskier’s key since the spell has been going too long and without it, we will only save his body, but not his mind.”

“And Geralt,” Triss began with a hard look, “Best to apologize for everything. Filling less pie? That is quite harsh to say to a bard about their singing.”

He sighs, “Long list if anything, but the rescue first.”

“Of course,” Triss’ face softens and clasps her hands together, leaving behind the memory.

* * *

“I’ve located him.”

Yennefer said as greeting when the two reappeared in the spell circle. She turns to nod at Ciri who understood as rushing to get the lute off its designated spot.

Geralt nods gravelly and goes to get the ready made pack of potions that Ciri and herself prepared for such an occasion.

“I’ll stay with Triss, but next time I want to help too,” Ciri states at Geralt. He nods and looks at Yennefer with impatience that any other day, she would have just ignored him out of spite, but she’ll give him pass. Only this time.

“Let’s get that Bard out of those Nilfgaard dogs’ prison,” Yennefer smirks and summons a portal that leads them as close as possible to the location.

Geralt follows behind swinging his sword, ready to slice through enemies for the sake of his bard.

 _Just another day with Geralt_ , Yennefer thinks ruefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not making posting it on Tuesday, which I didn't expect the chapter to be this long. There might be a chance the last chapter being split, but depends if it would need an epilogue or not. Either Friday on this weekend the next chapter will be post.


	4. Someone who inspires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone notices, I have added another chapter since these last two was too long so I split it. Worry not I have the last chapter done, just need last editing and will be posted a little more than 24 hours from when I post this chapter (since I have early work shift tomorrow, so after work it is).  
> ***Warning, there is some hints of dissociation episode from Jaskier. Take care of yourselves! Without further ado, happy reading!

Jaskier fidgets on the grass poking his back, trying to find the right position to gaze at the twinkling stars above him. Once the first one starts shooting across the sky, all discomfort is forgotten.

Weaving across the dark sky a story sang to him.

A moonlight, shimmered hair figure dashed through the rivers of stars before raising their bow. Another star streak across the field of celestial bodies and pierces many hunters that tried to catch a running boar. A calm respite falls once the last hunter fades away leaving only the archer and the boar. Said boar bows in reverence to the archer.

Before the archer does anything, stars circle around them for a moment then everything breaks.

Jaskier sits up abruptly and the ground disappears under him. A distant triumphant laughter echoes as the confusing fall whips around him.

Unsure of when or how he’ll land, Jaskier curls up and clasps his hands in prayer as if protecting something inside them. Just as he felt something forcing them open, the laughter chokes in mid curse and a disconnection is smooth away with a hint of lilac and gooseberries.

“ _-leep._ ”

* * *

Yennefer had felt the urgency once Triss was fully present and no longer floating who knows where to locate the bard. Fortunately with Yennefer letting her borrow some of her Chaos, the amethyst eyed sorceress was able to finish the scrying that Triss had been actively using when she was with Geralt within the link with the bard.

Because of this, not only found the fortress, but how many guards were there and their position.

So it wasn’t much of a surprise after they both entered the portal of the bard’s location, Geralt hisses at her darkly.

“What is the meaning for this?!”

Yennefer coolly stares at him, knowing what he meant, but not saying it outright, “We are at the forest near your bard’s location.”

“ **Yennefer!** ” she ignores the threat in his words. And knowing him, how panicked and worried he became. She almost felt guilty for it.

“I am not your puppy bard, whom you can kick every time you have an emotion,” growls Yennefer.

“You wouldn’t do this if it was Triss in trouble,” his grips on his unsheathe swords made his knuckles white.

Yennefer snorts and opens her mouth for a snark reply before returning her attention back to the direction where the fortress that was keeping the bard imprisoned.

Then looks down at her hands, remembering how despite not being able to be physically with Triss who was losing her Chaos at a faster rate during the scrying, the overwhelming despair of being so close and yet not able to do anything, but pray everything would work out played on Geralt’s face.

“…true, but one of us must be focused,” her violet eyes narrows and looks up from the hand she used to keep Triss grounded whenever she faltered during the earlier scrying, “Not to mention, you have a lot to make up for.”

“Stop speaking riddles,” thankfully, Geralt calmed somewhat, possibly realizing his panicking was going to be no help. Not like he noticed she was also worried about the bard.

“We are near, just so you know, but we cannot rush in a guarded fortress like it is empty. You’ll get your bard killed before you even make it through the door.”

They began their walk to find a good spot to spy for any look out guards. Once they found a good hidden spot, Geralt turns focused like in a hunt, calculating the best route to enter.

After a quick whispered planning, they decided to attack in half an hour during the middle of the next shift of guards when said guards are tired and ready to call it a day.

As they waited, Yennefer bumps her shoulder to the witcher to snap out of his brooding.

“After all these years, not once have I seen you relaxed as the time I caught the two of you alone not even after our tumbling under the sheets,” Yennefer wistfully smiles.

Geralt stares at her in visible confusion, realizing how much the other has changed.

“Cherish those moments and don’t deny the _vulnerability_ that leaves you. If anyone you can trust is the one who is there to face your crazy tantrums for the last decade or whatever time you’ve both been walking that Path of yours and supporting you when everyone hates and distrusts you.”

Letting the words wash over Geralt, Yennefer turns inward as well. 

Triss always sends reports of leads to her of any project Yennefer just off-handedly mentions during their talk through the xenovox. She never judged, but did call her out when she went too far. 

And her beaming face when Yennefer unwittingly made a joke was something Yennefer loved to reminisce.

When Tissaia de Vries mentioned how heartbroken Triss was when she left the Aretuza before the Sodden mess, Yennefer felt her breath leave her. More so to find out her lashing out hurt the one person she would have never harmed.

So technically, Geralt is not the only one who hurt someone they cared about. But by her magic, she will do what must be done to show Triss she does care and so relieved to find her alive for another chance.

Geralt’s grunt snaps her out of her reverie. Glaring amethyst eyes meet with impatient ones that nod toward the fortress.

It was time.

With an annoyed huff, Yennefer steps out of the trees while building up her Chaos.

The now playing Gwent guards paid no heed to her appearance only until she summoned her sleeping curse to descend upon them. As much as Geralt and herself wanted to slaughter them, she cannot afford the screams. At least not this early in the rescue.

Once the bard is in Geralt’s desperate arms, blood will paint the walls. Especially Fringilla Vigo. That witch wannabe is going down for not only being part of the Nilfgaardian army and betraying them, but indirectly hurting Triss and Cirilla. 

_Also hurting the bard_ , she thought as an afterthought.

Speaking of Geralt practically figuratively portaling himself to the other side of the first floor. Idiot witcher, he is rather fortunate she is powerful enough to extend her sleeping curse ahead of him fast enough before the intruder alarm could go off.

Being in the middle of the night helps too.

She is barely able to catch up to the now feral witcher two floors below the entrance and feels Fringilla’s magic. Before Yennefer could warn him to think before plunging into a very hostile and delicate situation, Geralt rips the door open.

She first smells then sees the bard and that is a lot of blood.

The bard is annoying and amusing at best when Geralt wasn’t around to mix up her feelings, but being chained up like some kind of dead carcass in the middle of the room like that, dripping blood everywhere, was not okay even with her.

She doesn’t need to imagine how Geralt must feel. That would be because the witcher slams into the sorceress, crashing into the wall hard. Her screeching was abrupt cut off, but Yennefer pays no heed. While ignoring the new wave of blood seeping under her boots, Yennefer carefully places her fingers to the sides of the bard’s unfocused face.

“ _Sleep,_ ” she whispers with soft power, letting the bard slacken in his chains. She quickly made the chains disappear when Geralt appeared beside her. Fortunately Geralt catches the bard from falling to the dirtied ground, distracting Geralt from falling into a shock of despair.

“Lets go before someone else decides to show up and waste our time when we have other important things to do,” Yennefer waves her hand, exhausted, yet knowing the time is the essence.

She turns again to see the bard for anything she can ease the healing that Triss would no doubt perform when they return. 

The bard’s back was bloody, no longer can one see where a line of what she suspects being a whip begins or ends. His hands were covered in many bruises that hopefully none of his fingers were not broken permenantly. 

Geralt carefully shifts the bard in his arm, such a parallel as the day they meet. Only this time, hopefully Geralt doesn’t deny what he truly feels for his bard.

* * *

Geralt sits with his back on the chair that was set out for Ciri waiting for Jaskier to awaken.

Currently she is out training with Yennefer or at least getting redirect the excessive energy of her worry over Jaskier. Geralt volunteered to stay to keep an eye on Jaskier as Triss was forced to eat and rest before doing another check up with Jaskier.

Silence was once his preferred company, but of course the bard ruined it forever for him.

The witcher sighs. Then again, he is willing to apologize from here to the heavens and beyond to hear Jaskier chatter over everything under the sun and more once again.

Without realizing it, Geralt enters in a meditation state, barely feeling his medallion vibrate.

In a blink, he stands in a fog, distantly he hears singing.

 _Oh fishmonger, oh fishmonger_   
_Come quell your daughter's hunger~!_

He follows the ballad through the fog, searching for those colorful clothes, bright blue eyes, smirking smile who dances between the tables of Cintra’s awed audience.

Yet as he gets closer, the singing isn’t getting fainter, but more undistinguishable. He runs faster passing nondescript faces, passes the table of the old Cintran queen and her blurred dining companions.

The only reason he abruptly stops was when a giant door reveals itself through the fog. Growling, he pushes and steps into a dark landscape. Narrowing his eyes, his golden eyes roam around the new area and finally finds him.

"Jaskier," he says in relief.

The bright colors might be duller than he remembers, but it could be the dissipating fog making it hard to see.

Realizing now how the hard grip in his heart finally loosens itself to find him, he whispers, "I was looking for you."

While Jaskier has his back turn to him, the bard doesn’t turn around.

_Doesn’t he know he is safe now?_

"Please look at me, Jaskier."

The bard’s shoulders rise up and an overwhelming fear, despair and fury surrounds him.

“How dare you use those same lines, which you had fooled me once before. You truly believe a second try would work despite already breaking the spell from a better sorceress than you,” hisses Jaskier, not once turning around, “Know this, I would not speak or do anything to break my loyalty!”

Geralt stares at the fuming bard, unsure of how things just escalated and knows he has to stop whatever this is before it's too late. Yet nothing came into mind.

“It doesn’t matter if you leave or not, I will end it here!” At the shout, Jaskier lifts his arm perpendicular to his body and drops an item with a silver glint only for Geralt to be shaken awake.

“What?!” he growls.

He looks around and sees Ciri staring at him with furrowed brows. Turning to Jaskier who was still laying on his stomach, was Triss standing by.

“The spell was activated again,” Triss bites her lip for a moment, “But he tried to destroy the item. I don’t understand what could have triggered it. This should not have been possible.”

When Yennefer arrives, Triss is muttering a spell, leaving Geralt torn between joining Triss or standing by Ciri who looks on in worry.

“What happens if the token broke?” he asks after the silence became too much once more.

Triss frowns and keeps muttering to herself. Yennefer scowls to her side and responds, “His mind would have been in the same state; broken to the point of beyond any magic to restore.”

* * *

“We only have one more chance to convince him. The way he went about it, he’s destroying himself,” Triss whispers without looking up.

“How much time do we have?” Geralt asks, tensed by Ciri’s side.

“In actuality, there is no set time, only when one of us enters his mind. But I prefer sooner than later, so as of now we must figure out what is his item and recreate it to resonate the broken one.”

Ciri frowns, frustrated that how she had hoped this nightmare is over, it only became worse. While everyone talks about what it might be, she looks around.

_Must be something very special to him…_

She catches sight of the lute where it is placed in a half-closed case at the other side of the room where Jaskier slumbers on. Ciri carefully opens it up and pulls the lute out.

Geralt’s punching something, surprising the girl to almost dropping the lute. In her scrambling to tighten her loose hold, she bumps into the case that falls to her feet.

“Fuck!”

Her face burns at the sudden attention and ensuing silence.

For a moment she waits for Geralt’s admonishing of her language when she notices him staring at the ground.

“That was the sound I kept hearing and it was small enough to fit in his hand...” Geralt turns to Triss, “I know what it is.”

On the ground was a worn coin, the same one Jaskier kept playing with whenever she caught him alone staring out the window. He always had this strange fond smile she had seen when her grandfather watches her grandmother do court and cuts anyone down who dares to undermine her.

“Of course! It was his first coin as a traveling bard!” Triss whispers in relief, “He mentioned how he can never spend it since it was extra special.”

Geralt looks away almost bashfully, but Ciri isn’t going to say anything, especially get another hypocritical lecture of watching her language. More so waste time in saving Jaskier, for real this time.


	5. Someone who cares (whom I love)

Geralt steps into the tavern, where it all began. Where they met for the first time.

Which currently, Jaskier was leaving in a huff through said tavern’s door into the dark fog outside.

Geralt rushed after the retreating colorful bard. The darkness was swirling around them again and Geralt would not be kicked out until his bard was free from himself.

“Jaskier! I’m sorry!” he blurts out.

Fortunately said bard stops.

Yet the bard’s next words make him do the same, “You weren’t there.”

The Witcher’s breath stutters for a moment and glares at the ground.

“I—you’re right. I should have been,” he growls in frustration, “And not just then. But every time you turned to me for anything and only received shouts for silence and wishing to be alone.”

When Jaskier turns to face him, Geralt blinks at the piercing blue eyes as confusion and exasperation spins around them faster each second.

“No! I meant like…” he bites his lip, distracting Geralt for a second before listening again, “Like there is something important that happened here.”

Jaskier waves his arms, calming part of the knot in his chest, “A rushing river being held back by a deteriorating dam, pushing and pushing against its breaking branches until everything is crashing down.”

At the last words, he claps loudly dramatically, which Geralt didn’t even flinch.

_How I miss his stories,_ he thinks to himself, but out loud, Geralt says, “Sounds kind of dangerous.”

“True. Pretty painful, but I know it will be a beautiful sight to behold. Everything I ever dreamt when I decided to become a traveling bard.”

His beaming face was almost like a punch and somehow understood what he was saying.

“Very brave to take such risk,” Geralt offers. Jaskier shrugs and looks around him, seeing something beyond the growing dark fog.

“What is life without risk? Adventure and heartbreak and all that. Besides, with you here, I bet everything will be fine, sir Witcher.”

_That would be the onions_ he thinks fondly, but seeing the continuing beaming face, and the fog rises up to become a storm, bringing up a reminder of the pain of said face from that forsaken mountain and later the desperation to the point of destroying himself.

All because of him.

“But you did had that and it was like you said,” he glares back down at the ground for a moment, but looks up to show his sincerity to the other, “You might not remember now and while I wish you didn’t so you wouldn’t be in pain, I know you are no coward and had chosen death than to let anyone take everything you are away from you.”

It was silent, like a breath being held back, a moment so fragile.

_Please, please, don’t leave us, Ciri wants you. I need you. I want—_

Hesitantly, enough for Jaskier could take it back, Geralt lifts up Jaskier’s hand and drops a coin into it. Yet he doesn’t let go of the hand that now clutches the coin in confusion.

“What am I to you, Sir Witcher?” Jaskier asks with coy, hiding his uncertainty.

His grip tightens, but without causing pain to Jaskier, Geralt whispers, “You called me your best friend in the world, yet I deny such claims.”

Geralt swallows his dry throat before letting slip a small smile, “Because you are more than that.”

“More how?” Jaskier whispers back, leaning forward.

The two stand only a step between them. Geralt raises his free hand to cup Jaskier’s face whose eyes half closed, ignoring the returning storm, building up for better or worse.

“So much more. I am willing to not only make it up to you from hurting you all these years, but a chance to be together as long as we walk this world.”

“And after?” Geralt felt more than heard the breathed whisper.

“When we meet again, it shall be forevermore,” Geralt leans his forehead toward Jaskier.

“Fuck,” Jaskier utters. Longing and agony went on hand with hope and relief as they leaned forward and their lips brushed.

Then Geralt felt cold.

Opening his eyes, Geralt found himself alone in the darkness. Nothing was present.

And no one.

He spins around and finds himself sitting up in fear. Gasping for breath, he quickly takes stock of his surroundings.

Warmth.

A soft light from the open window.

And something was clutching his hand. 

He looks down and realizes it was more like he was clutching someone else’s hand.

The witcher looks up and sees the blushing bard, barely rising his head from his position on the bed.

“Do you remember me?” he whispers in undisguised hope.

The bard gave a weak smile, “Three words or less?”

So relieved, Geralt couldn’t be blamed when he blurts out, “I love you.”

They stare at each other for a long minute as the words are processed.

Jaskier was the first to move and it was to bury his burning face into his pillow which the witcher feels the same urge to do.

Geralt could hear Jaskier whine, “Of all the things you’re articulate for.”

“Only when I’m with you,” Geralt responds in faked annoyance, but a smile betrays it that Jaskier catches when he looks up again.

“Geralt! You’re killing me,” Jaskier whines. He tries to rise from the bed, but winces in pain.

The good humor between the two leaves, reminding them what transpired in the time they last spoke. Geralt’s eyes linger on the bandaged back and the scarred hand within his.

“You remember when I said how I love the way you brood?”

Geralt looks up from their clasped hands, to stare at the shaky grin.

“There is a time and place. Speaking of which, you do know I would have forgiven you, more so when you do your apologizing and all that. Doesn’t mean I am rejecting that oath you said about making up to me for the rest of our lives. That is if you’re still willing. Not that I don’t believe you wouldn’t keep your word. I just don’t want it to be a duty or—”

With just a kiss on the knuckles of the grasped hand, Geralt cuts through Jaskier’s panic rambling.

He stares head on at those bright blue eyes. This time he let his emotions overwhelm him. 

Memories of how the firelight gave said eyes a mischievous glint as Jaskier told him a story with obvious lies just to amuse him, his expressive hands to demonstrate his vicious vengeance and how he will ruin those “ungrateful heathens for not seeing a true knight,” or the rare quiet moments in the Path where just being together was enough.

Showing and caring Ciri was only possible because Jaskier was there to teach him. After today’s explosion of so many feelings. He cannot return to suppress them. Geralt knows without a doubt he cannot live without Jaskier.

(But if he wants to leave him, Geralt would not hold it against him and would let him go along with part of his own heart.)

“If it was a duty, it would be my greatest honor to fulfill, but this is not. I want this and as long as you do as well, this is forever.”

While Jaskier’s tightened grip was weak, it meant so much for Geralt’s heart.

“AWW!” Ciri squeals.

They both turn and see Triss and Ciri matching large smiles and Yennefer huffing in fake annoyance. Although Geralt can tell she is barely able to suppress a small smile.

* * *

Nothing is ever smooth sailing so to speak. There are ups and there have been downs in the few weeks the five stayed recovering in Yennefer’s cottage.

“-Ah….talking too much, sorry,” Jaskier stops with a sheepish smile, midway into the story of how he met with Triss and wrote her a song.

Geralt tilts his head and gives a small smile, “Like…listening to you.”

“Just tell me when to be quiet and I will,” Jaskier fiddles with his fingers, stopping himself reaching for his coin lying on the table next to his bed by the pained look he gets when he tries to. Despite now able to sit up with the help of many soft pillows more extravagant as the next one, courtesy of Yennefer, Jaskier could not leave the bed for a day yet.

In response, Geralt stares blankly, but a pained faint wrinkle between his brows betrayed it.

“Shouldn’t have said that.”

“Well, you cannot be holding yourself back on my account all the time either,” Jaskier crosses his arms with a pout.

“Hmm,” he hums and shrugs, “Take advantage of it until then. Been quiet too long.”

“Quiet? Even with Ciri?” Jaskier asks incredulously. The girl could have not possibly changed that much from the time he used to visit her, had she? Then again what Ciri went through, anyone would have raged or quietened.

Geralt shrugs, but lets slip that smile that comes so often as of late. Better yet some of those are meant toward him! What a day to be alive!

“Knew it was worth it!” Jaskier ignores his questioning look and thinks about composing the giddiness of being with Geralt.

He hums and closes his eyes. He can smell the flowers and the scratching grass under his feet and the smell of distant rain…

“Jaskier?” the voice woke him up.

He blinks and stares at Geralt’s worried frown in confusion before turning in fear.

Before he goes into full panic, Geralt moves from his seat to Jaskier’s bed to wrap his large hands into Jaskier's slightly smaller, but longer fingers. The warmth from his side grounds him to the present. 

“Sorry, my mind can be tricky at times,” Jaskier breathes, taking in the firewood, chamomile, Roach and stable smell. 

“If you can change the Continent’s opinion over me, anything is possible,” Geralt whispers, he places the coin into his hands.

Jaskier scuffs, yet his tensed shoulders loosen while Geralt makes circle patterns with his thumbs over his hands which cover the worn coin, “You made it easier for being you.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier felt Geralt’s hum vibrate throughout his whole body and finally slackens into the Witcher’s side.

Just as sleep pulls him again, Geralt whispers, “I’m your Witcher and you’re my Bard.”

The bard hums happily and just listens to his slow beating heart, lulling him to sleep.

“Rest. I have you, Jaskier.”

* * *

It was their last day of hiding from the world where a war is brewing, dark soldiers searching and destiny’s call can no longer be ignored. Yet they know together everything will be bearable and face them head on without being alone.

For now, the bard and the princess, brother and sister make up lyrics to the amusement of the two sorceresses and the lovesick witcher.

“Together we sing,” Jaskier began to sing, thrumming his lute.

Ciri grins and sings, “Of a better time!”

“What tomorrow will bring!” the two duet together.

For a moment there was silence and Jaskier turned to Ciri with a raised eyebrow. She gapes at him before turning to their audience to sing, “We have nothing to rhyme!”

“Now that’s a pity!” Jaskier follows through, but remembering their impromptu lyric making sessions from long ago, the two go on to sing and giggle.

“Our silly little ditty/ Ever so bitty.”

Yennefer snorts and laughs while Triss giggles at their antics, but the two were only looking at Geralt in askance.

“Your voices complement each other,” he chuckles when the Ciri and Triss cheer while Yennefer shakes her head in mock disappointment.

“That’s more than three words,” Jaskier whines, but his eyes shine in amusement and pride.

They kept staring at each other, smiling, only to get interrupted by Ciri tugging on Jaskier’s sleeve, “Let's do another one, but with your first song!”

“Indeed! I have a promise to keep,” Jaskier taps on Ciri’s nose, ignoring Geralt’s groan. He carefully places his lute on Ciri’s lap.

She looks up in awe before shyly smiling, “I played it before when I took your lute back while you were...gone.”

“And my beloved lute was in good hands until she returned to me,” Jaskier leans forward, “Now let's finally fulfill our promise.”

Together they began;

_“When a humble bard_ _  
_ _Graced a ride along_  
_With Geralt of Rivia_ _  
Along came this song...”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Once I finish up working out the outline for the next Witcher fanfic, I'll post its first chapter of many.


End file.
